


Discomfort

by levitatethis



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Canon, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-17
Updated: 2010-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-09 12:52:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annoyed by an argumentative meeting at the Petrelli home over Adam, Mohinder and Sylar end up having a personal discussion of their own</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discomfort

_"One's real life is so often the life that one does not lead."   
_**-Oscar Wilde   
**  
For a place so grandiose as the Petrelli home noise seems to carry quite far, from room to room and floor to floor, through vents and over balcony walls, around corners and through keyholes.

Then again it may be the indomitable level of the argument in the living room one floor down that is rendering it unavoidable.

Trying to hold back an impending headache from the increasingly antagonistic debate amongst Bennet and Peter, with Sylar thrown in for good measure and Angela's occasional comment reminding them of her unparalleled dominance in dealing with Adam, Mohinder had quietly slipped away and resettled in the guest room that Peter had set up for him a year back as a place to stay when in New York.

Knowing that observation can be his greatest weapon or base on which to stand Mohinder also knows when to step back, when more data is required, before submitting a mulled over hypothesis. He knows very little about Adam, most of which comes from Bob's incomplete files. The others have the advantage of crossing paths with the infamous immortal at some point and can offer personal insight that Mohinder has yet to fully grasp.

Aware of being out of his element for that night, and desperate for any rest after months on the road, Mohinder groans over the raised voices he can hear penetrating the walls of the room. He lies back on the bed and, turning his ipod on, places his headphones over his ears, buffering out all external noise.

Gazing at the blank off-white ceiling while the thumping musical notes flow through him keeping the outside world at a restrained distance, Mohinder's eyes accept the invitation his body languidly extends.

Not fighting it Mohinder lets his eyes fall shut and he drifts off into much desired sleep.

Over the course of an unremembered dream-state Mohinder twists and turns, ending up on his stomach with one arm above his head and the other spread out sideways while his legs lay splayed out crookedly. That alone is not enough to wake him. Rather it is the gentle removal of the bulky headphones from his ears that calls him back to the world he cannot escape.

Lifting his face up from the blanket below him now overheated and moist from his breathing, Mohinder groggily squints his eyes open to the room still lit from the bedside lamps.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

The hushed voice breaks through Mohinder's clouded mind which races to return to the reality of the present.

"Sylar?" Mohinder questions with a raspy voice as the hazy form of the man leaning towards him develops into a sharper image.

"Go back to sleep," Sylar says as he steps back and turns off the ipod, wrapping the headphone wires around it and placing it on the nightstand.

Mohinder is already awake and he turns over, sitting up and resting in a seated position on the side of the bed. Rubbing his hands firmly against his thighs as if trying to wake up the rest of his body, Mohinder then rustles them through his hair and looks up at Sylar who has taken a seat across from him in a chocolate brown leather armchair near the wall, next to an antique writing desk.

The seconds count out as they sit in a mutually appreciated silence until Bennet's voice booms from downstairs.

"Are they still going at it?" Mohinder asks incredulously.

Sylar's tight smile holds back the laugh his throat drives forth and replies, "I think Bennet likes to hear the sound of his own voice—the greatness of his own ideas."

Mohinder raises an amused eyebrow at the irony of the statement that Sylar picks up on instantly.

"Don't start," Sylar warns with droll self-awareness and Mohinder scoffs lightly.

"Besides," Sylar continues taking a turn to the serious, "Angela keeps shooting me disconcerting looks."

"Well you did try to turn her youngest into a mass murderer while blowing himself up," Mohinder reminds him and sits up straighter, stretching his back in the process.

"She's not so thrilled with you either," Sylar points out.

"People always shoot the messenger," Mohinder cryptically replies.

Noticing Sylar's questioning expression Mohinder explains, "Returning his dead body home after you killed him the first time…thanks so much."

Sylar smirks at the sarcastic trip down memory lane. "Yes, of course," he reflects. "His ability to heal—and what an ability that is—gives me some potentially infinite opportunities to experiment with various interrogative techniques."

"You're disgusting," Mohinder utters.

"Please," Sylar tones with mocking condescension, "You of all people should understand and appreciate the importance of a lab rat, especially one that doesn't die."

"He's not something to be prodded for your own mad enjoyment," Mohinder raises his voice and holds Sylar in a firm glare. "You need to set aside your personal jealousies or else we're never going to get things done and right now there are far more pressing issues than you."

At the end of the brief rant Mohinder takes a deep breath and glances about the room, his hands tightly gripping the edge of the mattress on either side of his legs. Under his breath he mutters, "I told them you couldn't be brought into this…"

"You're so predictable," Sylar declares forcibly pushing up from the chair to stand over Mohinder, making sure the seated man has to look up at him to retain any eye contact. "You have no issue pointing out every single problem you have with me but Peter, who is like a damn cockroach surviving everything, is off limits."

"This has nothing to do with Peter being untouchable," Mohinder sternly counters and stands up to stress his self-assertion in Sylar's face. Jabbing a finger at Sylar's shoulder Mohinder continues, "This has to do with you having a personal vendetta that you've acted on before—one I know you would take any opportunity to relive again even if it comes at the expense of everyone else."

Neither of them backs down from the standoff and Mohinder's words hang stiffly in the air. It is Sylar who steps back first, a somber countenance in tense shoulders and blackened eyes, as he turns about the room.

His back to Mohinder he calmly says, "I didn't come in here to fight."

Mohinder waits, letting the tension begin to melt, and says, "That never stopped us before."

The statement brings Sylar's regarding eyes back to him and Mohinder sees the faintest tease of a knowing smile on his lips. For a small act it still manages to further relax Mohinder. Awake but tired he sits back down on the edge of the bed and watches Sylar walk around the bedroom, letting his fingers glide across a table top and skirt along the textured wall under examining eyes, taking in all the details.

"So is this a social visit or business?" Mohinder fills the silence while turned around in his spot to keep his eyes on his visitor.

Saying nothing Sylar comes to a stop and casts a quizzical look at him.

"No one downstairs will let you get a word in edgewise—am I right?—so you've decided to test all your Adam theories on me," Mohinder comments, half jokingly and half expectantly.

A contemplative moment passes before Sylar says, "You know what I have to say makes sense."

"To a point," Mohinder subtly contradicts with a chortle of laughter.

"To what point?"

"To the extent that it benefits you."

Sylar bristles at the remark and begins pacing the room again while Mohinder keeps talking.

"There are other people to consider. We can't all be as selfish as you."

"Stop complaining because you're feeling the weight of self-imposed obligation, Mohinder. You can walk away any time. You've chosen to stay."

"There are people I care about very much. Staying has nothing to do with obligation, Sylar. It has to do with…"

The drawn out pause summons Sylar's attention back to Mohinder who is staring down at the bedspread.

"Never mind," Mohinder speaks quietly. "You can't understand. You only stay to gather Intel for yourself and to toy with everyone's minds. Namely mine."

"Get over yourself—,"

"Then I repeat, why are you here?"

"Because if I'm going to subject myself to people with unwavering opinions on matters they know little about then you're as good as any," Sylar retorts. "Besides, you're fun when you're pissy."

The sarcasm of the last sentiment hits a nerve and Mohinder moodily says, "Look, I'm tired—,"

"So go to sleep!"

"I can't with you lurking around like that!"

Two sets of cold eyes challenge each other and Sylar casually turns on his heels and heads to the door. His hand is on the doorknob when Mohinder calls out, "Stop."

Waiting until Sylar looks his way Mohinder says, "I'm tired," again but this time the words are not attacking. Instead they bear the tone of an explanatory apology for his being snappy.

"You're exhausted," Sylar clarifies. Taking his hand from the door he turns and leans his right shoulder against the door, arms folded across his chest. "And there's something about not sleeping in your own bed that throws everything off."

Thoughtfully Mohinder answers, "We both know that's no longer an option."

"I don't see why not," Sylar contradicts, "It's not as if Parkman couldn't have found another place for him and the kid."

"_Molly_," Mohinder stresses her name in a bid to humanize her to a man he knows still craves her ability, "Needs some attempt—as pathetic as it may be—at normalcy. She's used to the flat and since Matt's the one always around for her it made sense to—,"

"Let him take it over and remove any reminders of you?"

"That's not what he's done. It's their home. He's just shifted things around."

"He's packed you away and sent you off," Sylar states, standing upright and taking a few steps towards Mohinder who is wearily watching from the bed. "There's no trace of the life that was there before he showed up. As far as _Molly_ knows you've all but disappeared."

"I doubt it's as sinister as you're portraying it," Mohinder responds but there is a trace of concern in his tone.

Sylar smirks and says, "If you saw what I saw—," and abruptly snaps his mouth shut at the unintentional slip up but it is too late.

In a flash Mohinder is on his feet. "What do you mean what you've seen? You're not allowed over there. That's part of the damn agreement! If Molly—,"

"I'm not going to hurt the precious child," Sylar booms back with irritation.

"Did I say you were going to hurt her?" Mohinder asks sourly.

Sylar tries to steady his forceful shallow breaths before answering, "No, but you still think about it."

"Of course I do," Mohinder states obviously. "Do not act as if I don't know how tempting her ability is to you…besides, that's not what I was going to say…"

Piercing eyes stand firm and Sylar eventually spits out, "So say it!"

Taking a meditative breath Mohinder fumes, "Molly doesn't need reminders of you—her parents, Maya; _this life_ are reminders enough. The risk of her seeing you in a place that Matt and I have promised her is safe—,"

"She's never seen me."

"It doesn't matter. That flat is nothing to you now," Mohinder affirms with resolute intent.

Words meant to chastise have the opposite effect however and the frustration inside Sylar seethes.

"That apartment was a home to me before you ever showed up from India," Sylar says through gritted teeth. "So don't tell me where I'm _allowed _to go. I don't require your blessing."

The strength of conviction behind his words of a personal sentiment that Mohinder had not considered before destabilizes Mohinder's stance and he finds himself shifting uncertain eyes away from a relentless glare; fidgeting his hands and briefly biting the inside of his lip.

The transient stay of blistering proclamations allows Mohinder time to gather this thoughts and he looks back at Sylar with a determination that matches Sylar's offensive stance.

"I'm asking you to stay away from the flat and Molly," Mohinder presses. "Or else."

"Or else what?" Sylar sneers, closing the space between them.

Refusing to back down Mohinder takes one step forward and coldly says, "You already said it—I can leave at any time."

There is a bluff somewhere in the words that both men are aware of but the threat is real enough that it keeps belligerent jibes from letting loose. This is not some empty comment meant to end a disagreement. The words carry a purpose and a promise that is relevant to only them.

A verboten understanding, they have called upon it at different times to strike at the other while never having to blatantly acknowledge it to anyone, most of all themselves. It breathes life into coded words and two-faced meanings. The double-edge sword, they wield it with intent but never recklessly.

Sylar opens his mouth to deflect Mohinder's penetrating forewarning but is interrupted by a knock on the door. There is no time for them to move away from each other before the door is pushed open and Angela has taken one step into the room.

Her scrutinizing eyes reveal only the barest hint of surprise at finding them together.

"I didn't realize I would be interrupting anything," she offers up coolly and levels her attention on Sylar whom she addresses distastefully. "I thought you had left already."

"I had some things to talk with Mohinder about," Sylar answers cautiously and there is suddenly an odd sensation of he and Mohinder being aligned against her.

"Hmmm," Angela seems to ponder the remark and shifts her eyes to Mohinder who has the presence of mind to step away from Sylar and remember that she has come to see him.

"May I help you Mrs. Petrelli?" Mohinder asks as respectfully as possible. Although he sees the briefest upturn of a smile at the corners of her lips he can also tell she is not all that happy to have him—any of them—here.

"It's nothing that cannot wait until tomorrow," she reflects and looks back at Sylar. "It's quite late. You're welcome to spend the night."

The unexpected invitation drops with a loud thud and Mohinder and Sylar's matching looks of surprise prod Angela to go on.

"Unfortunately we only have two guest bedrooms—the other of which Noah is in—so if you don't mind the chesterfield in the living room…or sharing this bed…"

The suggestion springs a faint redness to Mohinder's cheeks and elicits a smirk-like laugh from Sylar.

Unaffected by their natural responses Angela mindfully says, "You two have traveled together before and, according to Peter, you've had to make due in places far less accommodating. The bed's big enough."

A realization hits Mohinder that Angela's suggestion does not carry with it the implication of anything intimate between Sylar and he. Her idea is simply logical; it is Sylar and himself, on the other hand, who are filling in the connotations.

"There's always Nathan's room," Sylar gamely states and Mohinder turns wide-eyed to him over his gall at bringing up the dead Petrelli son.

Angela does not flinch at the words or the way in which they are spoken. There is no sharp intake of breath or awkward swallow. Her eyes remain stony and, holding herself up straight and with great command, she takes two very precise steps towards Sylar.

"Mr. Gray—,"

Sylar agitates at the name but is unable to look away from her demanding stare and deliberate tone.

"My invitation to you is extended out of courtesy for the work you are doing with us. Do not belittle it so callously and with such disrespect."

Without meaning to Sylar's eyes are humbly forced to the floor in embarrassment over the reprimand, not only from Angela but in front of Mohinder.

"Now—there is an extra blanket in the closet and you can take one of the pillows on the bed downstairs with you. Unless either of you requires anything else, goodnight."

"Goodnight," Mohinder says as she closes the door behind her.

They stand in a loaded silence while trying to recover from Angela's imposing presence. A quick glance gives way to two small smiles, uncontained, and the initial sounding off of shared snickers of laughter. Mohinder heads toward the bed, a grin spreading across his face, while Sylar slinks backwards against the wall with amused eyes.

Mohinder glances at him and says, "I think she might actually scare me more than you."

"I don't know if I want to go out there now. She might stick me in a corner," Sylar jokes with a tinge of uncertainty.

The anxiety of the unexpected meeting decompresses the previously thick tension between them. A longer than comfortable gaze passes between them and Mohinder looks down at the bed while Sylar pushes off the wall and walks to the closet. Pulling out a blanket he makes his way towards the door but stops at the foot of the bed.

"You'd think for a place this huge there'd be another room," Sylar says as if making small talk.

"It's luxurious," Mohinder answers, running his hand through his hair before resting both hands on his hips, "but not necessarily functional."   
A small nod and Sylar again makes a start for the door but comes to a halt parallel to where Mohinder is standing. Sylar turns his head to the left and rests his eyes on Mohinder who is lost in thought.

"Maybe it's a bit too much?" Sylar asks thoughtfully.

The question hangs between them until Mohinder looks to his left and meets Sylar's eyes.

"Hmmm, what?" Mohinder asks as his remind returns to the discussion at hand.

"This place," Sylar tries again, shifting the blanket to his left arm so that he can gesture to the room with his right. "It's a lot—overwhelming. It's lots of _stuff_."

Confused, Mohinder skips his eyes across the room, along beautifully embroidered curtains and an ornate mirror, classic wood nightstands and stunning picture frames.

"It's lovely," Mohinder answers softly.

Sylar rolls his eyes dejectedly. "Yeah, just lovely," he mutters and makes his way to the door.

Sylar is three steps from the door when his question actually registers in Mohinder's brain. Turning partly around, towards the door just over his left shoulder, Mohinder takes in Sylar's retreating form.

"I miss the apartment."

Sylar nearly stops mid-step at Mohinder's announcement and turns around to read his face, to see if it backs up his words. The honesty of Mohinder's personal share shows plainly on his face. Mohinder knows exactly what he is admitting.

So does Sylar when he replies with a small, well aware smile, "So do I."

Opening the door Sylar steps into the darkened hallway. Mohinder looks back at the bed and listens for the click of the closed door. 


End file.
